


The Weir

by rain_in_a_graveyard



Category: Harry Potter- (But not)
Genre: Other, School, creative writing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-29
Updated: 2017-06-29
Packaged: 2018-11-20 23:00:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 997
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11344884
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rain_in_a_graveyard/pseuds/rain_in_a_graveyard
Summary: Okay, since I haven't been updating 'Noughts and Crosses' as much as I should be, here's a piece of writing that I had to write for an end of term assignment. Only 1000 words, so it's not that long, but it will not be continued, as I should be focusing on my other works at the moment. There is no direct relationships in this writing, it's more of an abstract style of writing, however. Enjoy!!





	The Weir

The body was found in the icy coffin of the weir. The cathedral loomed above, its shadow stretching flat across the dark waters which had played with her hair. It streamed out behind her body in the free flowing current, turning this way and that. Damp tendrils stuck to her face, her eyes open, knowing. She wore a university T-shirt, purple and clinging. Tight jeans hugging her splayed legs in the lapping water. Her face sat drained of colour, lolling softly back and forth in the stream. Fingers teasing the weeds in which she had become entangled. A heron plopped its foot in the water. It turned it’s head slowly to one side, considering. Grey-bearded clouds bumped into each other above, sagely taking on the crime scene below. All that could be heard, aside from the swishing of the universe, was the sucking of the air pocket beneath the small of her back; fnuck, pause, fnuck, pause, fnuck, pause. Steady and meditative, the heron spread his wings and took flight. 

Behind the cathedral, a near deserted country road ran along a lengthy row of pine trees. Every once and awhile, the distant purr of an engine could be heard cascading down hill to the ever flowing stream that rested below, disrupting the silence that had lingered. Individuals that sat behind steering wheels, completely and utterly unaware of the scene not so far from their own location. 

A single drop of rain smacked against the window of Arthur Walkers Volkswagen as he turned off the narrow country road and onto his rutted dirt drive. Seconds later, the sky opened, unleashing sheets of heavy rain. Arthur sighed as his visibility was reduced to nothing. He slowed to a crawl and felt his tires sinking in, the trail they travelled now twin rivers of churning, muddy water. Rain pounded on the car’s roof as loud as hail. ‘It was sunny when I left Warrington’, he thought with a sigh. Still, he shouldn’t have been surprised. During summer in Virginia, the weather had a habit of turning on a dime. The Jetta skidded up splashes of mud as Arthur rounded the bend that brought his buttercream farmhouse into view. Groceries jostled in the backseat. The trees that crowded the length of the driveway gave way to rolling lawn. 

Arthur pulled in next to where his wives pickup was usually parked and waited a moment, car idling, for the rain to abate before deciding it wasn’t likely to slow anytime soon. So he thumbed the ignition and the car shuddered off, the cold and condensation intruding immediately once the heater had stopped. Getting out of the car was was harder than it had been a few months ago, before his leg had started to cease up. It took three tries and one decidedly unmanly groan. As soon as he stepped out, one leather strapped sandal sank into a mud puddle. Muck, cool and slimy between his toes, yanked the sandal from his foot as he took a step toward higher ground. 

By the time he had got the rear door open, Arthur’s shirt clung firmly to his swollen belly, and his unusually long hair was plastered to his face. He hauled the groceries out of the back seat, standing sloped with one sandal on and one bare foot, and glanced towards the deck, where the french doors had been slid open. There was no sign of his wife. Strange. Ever since he’d had the operation on his leg months ago, Arthur hadn’t so much as opened a pickle jar or carried a load of firewood, at least, when Evie was home to stop him. To be honest, her constant hovering drove him nuts, even though he knew that it was well intentioned. The sight of him carrying two overflowing bags of shopping would have been enough to bring her running, hollering at him to put them down. 

‘Figures’, he thought. The one time I actually need some help. “Honey!” he shouted towards the open doors, the light inside casting ominus shadows onto the deck. Evie didn’t answer. “Hon?” he called again, hobbling up the stairs of the deck, the bags dangling from his arms, his gait loping and awkward now that his left leg was down a couple centimetres from the removal of his shoe. Arthur put the bags down atop the kitchen island and turned to close the door behind him, trailing muddy footprints across the tiles. A click of nails on hardwood, and Abigail trotted into the kitchen with as much elegance as a ten year old bulldog can muster. 

Abigail glanced back the way she had came just for a moment before ambling over to Arthur and begging for a scratch. Arthur gave her a quick pat before fetching some kibble from the cupboard and pouring it into her empty food bowl. “Evie?” he called down the hall towards the living room. A clap of thunder shook the house and a flash of lightning made its way past closed curtains. Arthur headed to the living room, but the scene he saw through the doorway stopped him in his tracks. 

“Oh! Arthur, I was just about to call you to see how far you were!” came Evie’s voice, mere metres away “come on in, there are some men here who need to talk with us”. Arthur looked away from his wife and stared curiously at the two policemen standing in the middle of the cosy room, practically emanating authority. One officer had a scruffy black beard, and another with slick, dirty blond hair that had been ruffled from the storm outside. The one with the beard introduced himself as Officer Parkins, and the blond as Officer Black. 

The one with the beard remained silent, whilst Officer Black spoke, sorrow laced into his voice, “Well, seeing as you’re both here now, we have some news”. 

“You may want to take a seat, Mr Walker” Parkins said softly “it’s about your daughter”.


End file.
